Bad Mojo

I work from 11 a.m. to 4 a.m. At least, that's what I'm scheduled. It usually goes longer.

And for this, something ugly, tragic, and bestial happens.

I hate this job like it burned my balls with gasoline while transvestite hookers were laughing at me and masturbating with pictures of my family. That much. It sucks, but I have to contribute to college.

Basically, I cut open boxes. Last night, I worked pet food. You don't know stink until you smelt rancid Friskies. They looked like entrails ought to look.

I was told to work faster. I have gone to a year of college, and I know I'm more educated than my boss. I stay overtime to finish the job. That's bad.

I usually work until after 5. Around that time, the sun also rises.One of those impossible things, those things that go against nature, sense, and beauty, one of those notes in the "There is no God, no order, no happiness, nothing but fucking and killing" column, has happened because of this job.

Seeing the sun rise means failure for me.

Bah times infinity plus one.

Extra special bonus points for this reference:
Or a dream that’s tryin’ to tell me something.
Or will I ever stop thinkin’ about it.
""O un sogno che tenta dirme qualcosa. O farà io mai ferma pensare di esso."